


Someday is Not a Day of the Week

by TheGreatSporkWielder



Series: The Other Half's Luck [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Darcy Lewis Prompt Week 2012, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/pseuds/TheGreatSporkWielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy meets a cute scientist at an Avengers party and is pretty sure she's just made a new best friend.</p><p>Bruce meets a beautiful and charming young woman, and can't seem to stop staring at her lips. </p><p>Written to the Darcy Lewis Prompts from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy’s mother had never allowed her to wear lipstick. “Lipstick is for grown women, not girls,” she’d always said, and handed Darcy another tube of vaguely-pink hued, strawberry-scented Lip Smackers gloss. “This is what girls your age are supposed to use.”

Darcy’s mother had never allowed her to wear lipstick. “Lipstick is for _grown women,_ not girls,” she’d always said, and handed Darcy another tube of vaguely-pink hued, strawberry-scented Lip Smackers gloss. “This is what girls your age are supposed to use.”

 

“But, Mom, I’m sixteen. I’m the only girl in school who doesn’t use it.”

 

“I don’t give a damn about the other girls, Darcy Isabella Lewis. And that’s probably the reason those other girls are tramps. All the boys think they’re older than they are. When you’re a woman, I’ll let you wear lipstick; I’ll even go with you to buy your first tube. That’ll be fun!”

 

Darcy had prudently _not_ mentioned that she’d been the first girl in her class to lose her virginity (they’d taken a poll at Sharon Miller’s sixteenth birthday party last summer), or that Aggie Bennett, the resident Holy Christian (whose real name was Agape, the poor girl), was allowed to wear lipstick (it was a _very_ light pink) when she wasn’t even allowed to wear _pants._

So on a trip to the mall with Sharon one weekend, Darcy had bought herself a tube of the brightest, reddest lipstick she could find, and hid it in the little bag where she kept her emergency tampons. It had looked awesome on her, and Darcy didn’t care about doing it behind her mom’s back, because now she could _finally_ join in with the other girls in the bathroom as they swiped color on their lips. Now she was a _woman._  

 

And forever after that, Darcy associated that shade with confidence.

* * *

 

Her sophomore year of college, Darcy started dating Michael Harris, who was kind of a snob, but was hot and really good in bed. After about three months, his parents invited her to dinner and she’d dressed for the occasion; she’d even bought a new tube of that perfect shade she privately called Confidence (but was actually called Hot Tamale) that perfectly matched the strapless red dress she was wearing.

 

“Geez, Darcy,” Mike had said as he stood in the bathroom doorway, tying his tie and watching her put the lipstick on, “do you _have_ to use that color; it makes you look kinda like a stripper.” Darcy had been so shocked that she’d wiped the lipstick off and replaced it, in uncharacteristic silence, with a more subdued shade. Mike had been pleased, but his parents had hated her anyway, and his mom had actually asked her if her boobs were real.

 

About a week later, she’d broken up with Mike, and he’d sneered something about how he should’ve known by her stripper lipstick that she wasn’t good enough for him. She’d proceeded to draw penises all over his super-high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets with said lipstick, and while she mourned the loss of Confidence (because it looked _great_ on her, low-class connotations be damned); it had totally been worth it. 

 

That night, sleeping on her friend Macy’s couch, she’d cried over the irony of it, and vowed to never let a man steal her confidence (either version of it) ever again.

* * *

 

Three years later, after meeting (and tasing) a god, mysteriously getting a rather cushy job with SHIELD (even if it was as a grunt in their HR department), and watching said god and his super buddies save New York from aliens, Darcy found herself with an invitation to a party in the Avengers’ honor.

 

Jane had dragged her from store to store, in search of the perfect dress, becoming more and more frantic with each rejected outfit. Darcy supposed there _was_ a little pressure to look hot, especially if you were going to be the arm candy of a god, and Darcy thanked her lucky stars that she was date-less and could therefore wear whatever the hell she wanted.

 

When Jane broke down in tears after rejecting dress number eleventy-twelve, Darcy took charge. “Okay, Foster,” she said firmly, “this is what we’re gonna do. We’re going to go to the makeup counter and get you a bitchin’ lipstick and then we’re going to find a dress that matches.”

 

Jane sniffled at her. “Isn’t that kind of backwards?”

 

Darcy scoffed. “Fuck that. A great shade of lipstick is just as good for your ego as sexy lingerie and a whole lot cheaper. Once you have that, the rest will fall in line. Or you won’t care because you’ll realize that no matter what you wear Thor will be ripping it off of you once the party’s over, anyway.”

 

Jane blushed, but docilely followed Darcy to the makeup department. Darcy left her in an associate’s capable hands and stalked off to find a dress for herself.  A dress she could wear with Confidence.

 

Jane _finally_ found a dress, and Darcy was totally right that she found it about three minutes after being handed a tube of rosy lip color.

 

That night, Jane was radiant on Thor’s arm; and Darcy knew that _she_ looked awesome, and, for once, didn’t mind _too_ much that every guy there did the same thing (come up to her, wink, say, “great dress,” leer at her boobs, move on to next girl when Darcy didn’t seem to think that was a clever conversation starter).

 

Every guy except one.

 

On a trip to refill her champagne glass for the third (or maybe fourth?) time, she spotted someone sitting at a table in the corner, doing his best impression of a potted plant. Ever since high school, Darcy had made a point to seek out the quiet ones and at least say hi, because she knew how much it sucked to sit along the wall and watch everyone _else_ having fun, so she made her way over to him and plopped down in the chair across from him with a cheerful hello.

 

He looked startled. “Hello,” he replied warily.

 

“I’m Darcy,” she said, thrusting her hand across the table at him.

 

He stared at it for a moment, as though he’d never encountered the gesture before, but then slowly took her hand in his. “Bruce,” he replied, and the pressure of his fingers against hers was so feather-light that Darcy wondered if she’d imagined it.

 

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and smiled her prettiest and most charming smile at him. His dark eyes dropped to her lips, and she waited with a mental eye roll for them to drop further, to her neckline, but they stayed where they were until he realized he hadn’t answered her, and his gaze flitted back up to meet hers.

 

“You, too,” he said, and apparently he’d reached his Social Interaction Quota for the evening because he didn’t say anything else, turning his attention to a loose thread on the cuff of his suit coat.

 

Well, Darcy wasn’t about to lose out to an ill-made garment, so she barreled along with the conversation.

 

“So what’s a nice guy like you doing hiding in a corner?”

 

“I don’t really do so well with crowds,” he said.

 

“Then why don’t you just blow this joint?” she replied. “Sneak away. There’s like a bazillion people here, not like anyone’s gonna notice, right?”

 

He looked confused. “They’d notice _me_ ,” he said. “I’m pretty sure Tony is looking for me right now.”

 

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. “Tony? Like, _Iron Man_ Tony? You _know_ him?”

 

The question just confused him even further, and Darcy had a strong urge to ruffle his hair, because he looked just like her old dog Baxter used to look when you moved his food bowl to the other side of the kitchen. “You mean you honestly don’t know who I am?”

 

Darcy shrugged. “Should I?”

 

“You work for SHIELD, don’t you?” he asked. When she nodded, he continued, “Then yes, you should.”

 

Darcy pursed her lips in thought, and did a mental fist pump when his eyes dropped to her mouth again.

 

Score one for Confidence.

 

“Bruce, Bruce, Bruce,” she mused. “Bruce…Wayne?”

 

“Wrong Bruce,” he said. “Right track, though.”

 

“Bruce…Bruce Springsteen? Bruce Jenner?”

 

That got a bit of a laugh. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed as it dawned on her. “Bruce _Banner._ You’re Bruce Banner!”

 

He nodded, and something in his posture shifted, as though he was preparing to dash away, or maybe bracing himself for her departure.

 

“Oh, my god,” Darcy said, bouncing a little in her chair, and she couldn’t begrudge Bruce the way his eyes flicked down to her chest for just a moment. “Jane is gonna be _so_ jealous.”

 

“Jane?”

 

“Jane Foster?” said Darcy. “She used to be my boss, but now that she’s got people who actually know what the hell she’s talking about to be her minions, she and I just go shopping every now and again and she tells me too much about Thor. Anyway, she used to fangirl so hard about you and your work and what a fucking genius you are and how meeting you was, like, number three on her bucket list, after winning a Nobel Prize and going to Australia.” 

 

He blinked. “Oh,” he said faintly. “That’s not how most people react to me, these days.”

 

“What do they usually say?” she asked.

 

“The Hulk?” he said, and there was a hint of _You Should Already Know This_ in his tone.

 

“Ohhhh,” she said as she made the connection, and she barely kept herself from slapping her forehead. “Duh. I kinda forgot about that.”

 

“You…forgot?” he echoed incredulously. “And you work for SHIELD?”

 

“Eh,” she said with a careless wave of her hand. “I only work for them because they haven’t invented that _Men in Black_ tech where they can wipe my memory, yet.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” she said, and drained the last of her champagne. “I’m pretty sure they quadruple-checked to make sure, too. I’m not a genius or a super-spy or anything, and it’s not really helping my ego to be surrounded by them all the time.”

 

He nodded knowingly. “Well, it’s not entirely great for mine that I spent years building up a reputation as a respected scientist only to suddenly become ‘that guy who turns into a huge green monster if you make him mad.’”

 

“Well, if you ask me, I think both of those things are kind of awesome,” said Darcy. “I tried reading one of your papers after one of Jane’s squeeing sessions and couldn’t get past the first paragraph. And watching Hulk smash those aliens like ants on a sidewalk is really cathartic. I saved it to my TiVo and watch it every now and then and pretend those aliens are my ex-boyfriends, none of whom liked my lipstick. Assholes.” 

 

His eyes flickered down to her lips again.

 

She didn't pretend not to notice, this time. “It’s a great color, right?”

 

He blushed a bit and shrugged. “I wouldn’t really know,” he said. “But it does look lovely on you.”

 

She smiled widely. “You know, Bruce,” she said, and lowered her voice to her best Bogey impression, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case someone doesn't get the reference, "Agape" (pronounced _a-GAHP-ay_ ) is a Greek word that is translated into English as "love;" in Christian theology, it is used to refer to the unconditional love God has for mankind, and the love Christians are supposed to show each other and the rest of the world.


	2. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the weeks since the Avengers' party, Darcy and Bruce had fallen into something resembling a morning routine, and Bruce didn't even realize it until the day it didn't go right.

In the weeks since the Avengers' party, Darcy and Bruce had fallen into something resembling a morning routine, and Bruce didn't even realize it until the day it didn't go right.

 

Around eight o'clock each day, he'd be walking through the hallways of SHIELD, on his way to his lab, and a cheerful “Hello, Bruce!” would float over the busy hum of the hallway. His first instinct was always to freeze, and he could feel his shoulders hunching up in anticipation of having to talk with whomever it was, and the Other Guy, at the back of his mind, would grumble something about how it was too early in the morning to be nice to anyone.

 

He'd slowly turn around, steeling himself for inane pleasantries with whatever random SHIELD scientist thought he had the right to address Bruce by his first name, and when his gaze would land on Darcy, his shoulders would involuntarily relax, and a niggling thought would zip through his brain that maybe today wouldn't be quite so bad after all, as well as remind him, yet _again,_ that Darcy was the only person in the whole building who actually called him “Bruce,” anyway (everyone else called him by his title or his surname).

 

“Good morning, Darcy,” he'd reply, and then she would smile warmly at him, and his eyes would drop to her mouth again (what _was_ it with him and her lips?) and as a corner of his mind idly wondered how those exes of hers could've not liked that color on her, they'd talk about their mornings; and after Bruce would explain (pausing every now and then to translate the scientific jargon into terms she could follow) the research he was working on, Darcy would complain about how everyone at SHIELD was an incompetent asshole who couldn't fill out a freaking W-4 properly.

 

She'd walk with him the rest of the way to his lab, whereupon she'd bestow another glowing smile on him and say, “Have fun saving the world with science, Bruce. See you around,” before turning back the way she came to chase down whatever poor soul had carelessly skipped a box on their tax form.

 

Even the Other Guy seemed to agree that days when Darcy said hello to them were Good Days.

 

(Darcy said hello every day.)

 

Today, however, was different. Bruce had made it all the way to the entrance to his lab before he realized he'd gotten there without a greeting from Darcy. He briefly contemplated shrugging it off and going inside, but it nagged at him. Darcy had made a point of it to greet him every morning, and she wouldn't break with their routine unless something was wrong. So he made his way to the HR office and, after a brief inquiry and an awkward conversation with the star-struck receptionist at the front desk, walked back to Darcy's cubicle.

 

She sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen and didn't notice him until he cleared his throat. She jumped and her eyes jerked up to meet his.

 

“Bruce!” she exclaimed, and her brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I didn't see you this morning,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

“Oh,” she said, and ran a hand through her hair. “Sorry. I've just been kind of preoccupied today.”

 

“Anything I can do?”

 

She let out an annoyed sigh. “Not unless you can squish somebody for me.”

 

He blinked in surprise; it had been a while since anyone had made an Other Guy joke, and even then, it was usually Tony. “Unfortunately,” he said, smiling slightly, “Fury frowns on me smashing without just cause.”

 

“Is being a dickish asshole cause enough?”

 

His smile dropped. “Is someone treating you like that?”

 

She rolled her eyes and dropped her gaze to her keyboard. “SHIELD hired my ex,” she said, holding out a file to him.

 

“Oh, Michael Harris?” asked Bruce, as he opened the file and saw the name. “He seems like an intelligent young man. I almost took him; he did write his senior thesis on one of my old projects, after all, but his current interests seemed to fit in better with Reed's work than mine.”

 

“I'm supposed to help him with his paperwork,” Darcy grumbled, “and I just know he's going to make snide comments about me being a 'working girl.'”

 

The Other Guy growled slightly in Bruce's mind, and Bruce frowned. “That would be highly unprofessional of him,” he said, snapping the file shut. “Are you sure there's nothing I can do?”

 

She looked up at him consideringly. “Actually,” she mused, “there is.”  

* * *

Michael Harris couldn't believe his good luck. Here he was, just a year after graduating from college summa cum laude with a degree in Biochemistry, and he'd managed to land himself a job as a research assistant at SHIELD's facilities, under the illustrious Dr. Reed Richards. Everything was coming up roses for him. He had money, a beautiful girlfriend from a good family, and now, with this job, he was on the fast-track to a Nobel by the time he was thirty. His parents had never been so proud.

 

He was sitting in the lobby, his new leather briefcase (monogrammed!) resting on his knees as he waited; the receptionist told him that someone from the HR department would help him get his paperwork in order and get him his badge and show him to Dr. _Reed Richards'_ lab, where he would be working side-by-side with one of the most respected scientists in the country. 

 

To his utter shock and horror, he recognized the curvy brunette coming towards him, though he didn't recognize the man with her. Probably one of Michael's new co-workers, judging by the lab coat the man was wearing.

 

“Hello, Mike,” she said.

 

“It's _Michael,”_ he replied, standing to his full height so as to more easily look down his nose at her. “Fancy seeing _you_ here, Darcy.” 

 

She smiled widely at him and he could tell it was not a genuine smile; and ugh, she was still wearing that horribly ugly bright lipstick. “As charming as ever,” she said sarcastically. “Look,  _Michael,_ I'm here to welcome you to SHIELD, not dig up the past. See, I even brought a scientist along with me to say hello.” She gestured to the man at her side. He was looking assessingly at Michael, and Michael had the uneasy feeling that the man, despite the fact that he was a full head shorter than Michael and didn't look terribly threatening, was measuring Michael for a full-body cast. 

 

Well, Michael wasn't about to let some middle-aged scientist who never made it past Lab Assistant get the better of him. “Michael Harris,” he said firmly, holding his hand out to the other man. 

 

The man merely blinked down at the hand and lifted his dark eyes to meet Michael's. “Bruce Banner,” he replied, his voice blank, making no move to take Michael's hand.

 

Michael just barely kept himself from clasping his hands together and squealing. “ _Bruce_ _Banner?”_ he echoed, and he saw Darcy bite her lip in an unsuccessful attempt to hold in a giggle when his voice squeaked; damn her.

 

Dr. Banner's eyes slid to Darcy momentarily, then back to Michael. “I've heard a lot about you,” he said.

 

“Not from Darcy, I hope,” said Michael. 

 

“From Dr. Richards,” was the cool reply. “He's looking forward to working with you.” 

 

Michael felt himself flushing with pleasure. “And I'm looking forward to working with him. And with you, of course, Dr. Banner.”

 

Dr. Banner somehow managed to look down his nose at Michael while looking up to meet his eyes. “No,” he replied. “You won't be working with me. I need people who can work with  _anyone,_ not just those they deem worthy of their notice.” With that, he turned to Darcy, smiled for the first time since Michael had laid eyes on him, and said, “Have fun saving the world through properly filled-out paperwork, Darcy;” he then swept off, his lab coat flapping behind him. 

 

Michael turned back to Darcy to see her smiling as she watched Dr. Banner go. “He is my very best friend in the whole wide world,” she declared as she turned back to Michael. “Come on, Harris. That monogrammed briefcase ain't gonna do the work for you.” 

 

In shock, Michael docilely followed her.  _Perhaps it might be a prudent idea,_ he told himself,  _to be a bit more polite to the woman who apparently has Bruce Freaking Banner wrapped around her finger._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone notices because they read Chapter 1 right when I first posted it: Originally, I had Darcy getting a job as a grunt in the PR department, but then it dawned on me that if she worked in PR, she should remember that Bruce Banner=Hulk. So I moved her to HR because I figured that way, she spends all day filing paperwork for new hires and never really encounters anything to do with the Avengers.


	3. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not to belittle Mr Fantastic, 'cause I'm sure the name fits, but why the hell would Loki make it rain fucking orange juice?”

Darcy had taken to spending her lunch breaks in Bruce's lab, making her way down there and sitting at an unused table near him once she'd retrieved her food from the cafeteria. For one thing, he didn't nag her about her love life or want to grade the Avengers' asses every week like all her co-workers in HR did (Captain America's had won the poll for five weeks running; Darcy personally favored Hawkeye's); he was also perfectly willing to eat the parts of her lunch she didn't like.

 

That he was funny and brilliant and spending her lunch in his lab meant an extra half-hour in his very pleasant company every day was just icing on the cake.

 

“So,” she said as she handed him her pickle, “how's old Mikey doing?”

 

Bruce shrugged disinterestedly as he devoured the pickle in two quick bites (sharing her unwanted food with him was also Darcy's sneaky way of making sure he ate _something_ for lunch) and sat on the stool next to hers.

 

“Aw, come on,” she cajoled, bumping his shoulder with hers as she took a bite of her Reuben. “It's okay; I told you, we made up. Buried the hatchet. Etcetera.”

 

(“I probably shouldn't have been such a dick to you and I apologize,” Michael had said to her a few weeks after he'd started, when they'd bumped into each other in a break room while refilling their coffee mugs.

 

“I possibly shouldn't have ruined your sheets,” Darcy had replied, sliding the creamer over to him with one finger, as a peace offering.

 

“I still don't like that lipstick.”

 

“I still hate your stupid skinny ties.”

 

“Alright, then.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Can you please make Dr. Banner not hate me anymore?”)

 

Bruce sighed and cast her a sidelong glance. She made an encouraging gesture with the hand that wasn't holding her sandwich. He shrugged again, then said, “He's doing fine, I guess. I think Reed is a bit frustrated with him and the other new techs because they still gape whenever anyone from the team comes into the lab, even though they should know better by now. It's been two months.”

 

“At least they're not gawking at Sue Storm's boobs like the _last_ techs,” she replied with an emphatic wave of her sandwich. “Oops,” she added, as a bit of sauerkraut fell out of the sandwich and onto the pristine tabletop.

 

“Darcy,” Bruce chided affectionately as he leaned over and grabbed a paper towel.

 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly as she took it from him and wiped up her mess.

 

Suddenly, the door to the lab burst open and Michael came in, breathing hard, another lab tech trailing behind him.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Darcy said under her breath.

 

“Dr. Banner!” Michael exclaimed. “Oh, hello, Darcy. You two _have_ to see—“

 

“Hello, Dr. Banner!” called the Tech Who Was Not Michael, waving.

 

“Bruce says hi back, and we have to see what?” Darcy replied hastily, before Bruce could say anything or Tech Who Was Not Michael could get into full-on Fanboy Mode.

 

“Outside,” said Michael. “It's raining--”

 

“Men?” finished Darcy cheekily.

 

“Hallelujah,” muttered Bruce, his gaze on the tabletop, and Darcy laughed. His eyes flickered up over the rims of his glasses to meet hers and his lips twitched in answer to her grin. Her grin slipped into a bit of a smirk as his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth again (the fact that Bruce seemed to find Confidence irresistible totally made up for all her ex-boyfriends hating it).

 

“No,” said Tech Who Was Not Michael. “ _Orange juice.”_

 

“No fucking way,” said Darcy, leaping from her stool and dashing across the lab to the full-length windows, where she could see that, yes, there was indeed orange juice falling from the sky and pelting against the window, leaving pulp stuck to the glass in its wake. 

 

“Really, Darcy, language,” said Michael reprovingly.

 

Darcy grumbled something even more unladylike as she pressed her nose to the window. She felt Bruce come up behind her and turned to look up at him. “Check it out,” she said. “Orange juice.”

 

“Wow,” he replied, adjusting his glasses and leaning closer to peer at the pulpy strands clinging to the glass, and she could feel the heat from his body against her back. “Why is it raining orange juice, exactly?”

 

“Dr. Richards thinks it might be Loki,” piped up Tech Who Was Not Michael, and Darcy really needed to find out his name because that was way too long a title. “God of Mischief and all that.”

 

“First thing,” said Darcy, turning away from the window, and pointing at him, “what's your name?”

 

“Howard,” said the tech, shoving his glasses up his nose.

 

“Bet Tony loves that,” Bruce muttered, too low for anyone but Darcy to hear.

 

“Okay, Howard,” said Darcy. “Not to belittle Mr Fantastic, 'cause I'm sure the name fits, but why the hell would _Loki_ make it _rain_ fucking _orange juice_?” 

 

Howard made an 'I Dunno' face. “Beats me,” he said with a shrug. “That's why I'm just an assistant.”

 

“Anyway,” said Michael, “just thought I'd give you the heads-up on the latest crazy.”

 

“You know,” said Darcy, as the two techs left, presumably to go inform the rest of the building about the odd happenings, “this reminds me of that one kids' book where everything is made of food and, like, soup falls from the sky and eventually everyone sails away on huge sandwiches or something.”

 

“ _Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs,”_ replied Bruce, nodding. “I remember that book. I read it when I was about ten or eleven.”

 

“I always thought it would be kind of awesome to live there,” said Darcy. “You'd never have to cook.”

 

“It scared me,” said Bruce, shaking his head. “I had nightmares for about a week that I was going to be crushed to death by a meatball the size of a Buick.” 

 

Darcy tried to hold back a snort, but judging by the mock glare Bruce was shooting her, she hadn't been entirely successful.

 

“So,” she said, changing the subject as she looked back out the window, “talk about your acid rain, am I right?” 

 

It was Bruce's turn to snort, and Darcy turned a beaming smile on him. “Orange juice is acid-y, right?” she asked. “I vaguely remember something about that from high school chemistry class.”

 

“Yes,” he replied, smiling at her in a way that made warmth spread through her chest. “It is.” 

 

“Awesome,” she said. “I totally made a science joke.” 

 

“You did,” he confirmed, his eyes dancing. “I'm so proud.” 

 

“You _should_ be,” she replied, nudging his arm. “It's all your fault, Dr. Science Man; you're a bad influence on me.” 

 

His smile widened, and he was about to reply when her phone beeped. “Aw, damn,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket and looking down at it. “Lunch is over.”

 

Bruce's expression fell a bit and Darcy couldn't help but smile to herself at the thought that Bruce enjoyed their lunches as much as she did.

  
She turned back to face him when she reached the door to the lab. “See you around, Science Man,” she said airily, blowing him a kiss.

 

He blushed a bit and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Have a nice afternoon, Darcy,” he replied.

 

She grinned the whole way back to her cubicle, and when the others asked her why she was so happy, she shrugged and said, “I just think orange rain is really cool.”

 


	4. Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's just my luck,_ Darcy thought ruefully, _that I get a craving for Cherry Garcia at the exact same time that Dr. Doom decides to wreak havoc. Again. Right down the block._

_It's just my luck,_ Darcy thought ruefully,  _that I get a craving for Cherry Garcia at the exact same time that Dr. Doom decides to wreak havoc. Again. Right down the block._

 

As she dropped her shopping bag so she could run faster, briefly mourning the loss of her ice cream, she muttered, “Why can't he go take over Chicago or L.A. or somewhere? I'm pretty sure it's their turn. Leave us the fuck alone.”

 

Darcy ducked into an alleyway and crouched down next to a dumpster, cringing as she heard the crushing stomps of a robot coming closer and closer, each stomp followed by the wail of a car alarm being set off.

 

“God _damn it,”_ she hissed, pushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. 

 

Suddenly, a large cockroach scuttled across her foot; and she really should've kept a proper perspective about the whole situation because  _gigantic evil robots of destruction_ and all _,_ not to mention that Darcy prided herself on not generally falling prey to girly stereotypes (Michael had thought it was weird that she was the only girl in their circle of friends that always voted to see the horror movie over the drama), but when her eyes landed on the cockroach, she jumped about three feet in the air, flailed her hands around, and screamed. 

 

Loudly.

 

Her scream cut off abruptly when a deafening roar filled the air, drowning out the cacophony of car alarms, and she turned to see Hulk slamming a robot into the street with great relish. She edged away from the dumpster, trying to sneak around Hulk before he noticed her and squashed her, too.

 

She'd never met Bruce's bigger, angrier half before; Bruce had told her during lunch one day what a force of destruction the Other Guy was and how her friendship with Bruce couldn't guarantee her safety when the Other Guy was out. “He knows who his team is,” Bruce had said, his eyes on her cold French Fries, “but I just can't take the risk that he won't know you.” 

 

As curious as she was to meet Hulk in person, Darcy had figured Bruce knew what he was talking about and so she'd promised him that she would stay out of the Other Guy's path; from the grateful smile that had curled his lips and the way his whole body had relaxed, Darcy had known she'd done the right thing. 

 

She was just out of the alley when Hulk's head jerked toward her. “Oh, shit,” she muttered as his eyes narrowed, and she bit her lip hard to keep from screaming again because  _fuck_ he was huge _,_ and he looked  _really_ pissed off. Bruce had also mentioned that the Other Guy  _hated_ it when people screamed at him; it just made him more angry. So she swallowed hard, pressed herself as flat as possible against the wall of the building behind her, thought, _Sorry, Bruce,_ waggled her fingers at Hulk in a tiny little wave, and stammered, “Hi, there.” 

 

He blinked down at her, then reached out and grabbed a robot that was about to land next to him. Without taking his snapping green eyes off of Darcy, he crushed the robot's head with one hand and growled, annoyed, as it flicked his bicep in its death throes with a tentacle-like arm. Hulk turned his head and shook it off with a careless flick of his wrist, watching as it fell to the street with a satisfying crash.

 

Darcy couldn't hold back a gasp as she saw a smear of blood on Hulk's forearm.

 

Hulk turned back to face her.  **“What,”** he growled, and she flinched at his glare. 

 

Darcy pointed with a shaky finger to his arm. “Are...are you okay?”

 

He looked down at his arm; when he saw the blood smeared there, the crimson stain stark against the green of his skin, his lips curled in a sneer and he carelessly swiped his other hand across his forearm.  **“Not Hulk's blood,”** he said simply. 

 

“Oh, good,” Darcy said, relieved. She wasn't sure how injuries to the Other Guy affected Bruce, and that would've been a nasty wound on a regular-sized arm. 

 

“ **Good?”**

 

“That you're not hurt,” Darcy explained. “I'm glad you're not hurt.” 

 

His forehead wrinkled, and Darcy couldn't help but think that he looked just like Bruce did when he was bewildered.  **“Why Darcy glad?”** he asked. 

 

“Erm,” Darcy stammered, stunned a bit by the revelation that Hulk knew her name, and then words came spilling out, faster and faster with each passing moment, and her hands flapped around nervously as she spoke. “Well, you're totally crushing those robots like a boss, and I bet you wouldn't be able to smash quite as effectively if you were injured.” 

 

Hulk tilted his head, considering her words.  **“Darcy like Hulk smash?”** he asked, and if Bruce hadn't told her that Hulk cared less about others' opinions of him than Tony did _,_ Darcy would've sworn he was fishing for compliments.

 

Darcy was more than willing to oblige him, though, so she nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. I'm a huge fan. Especially when smashing saves me from getting zapped to death in an alley by an evil robot.”

 

He grunted at her.  **“Hulk need go smash more. Hulk no can save Darcy all the time.”**

 

Darcy smiled hesitantly at him. “Is this your way of saying I should get the hell out of the street?”

 

He nodded.  **“Darcy go hide,”** he ordered, squinting up at the sky.  **“Hulk go smash puny robots.”**

 

“Will do,” she replied. “And...be careful.” 

 

“ **Puny robots no hurt Hulk,”** Hulk declared proudly, thumping his chest with one green fist. **“** _ **Hulk**_ **hurt puny** _ **robots**_ **.”**

 

“Good work, buddy,” she said as she pulled away from the building slightly, forcing her muscles to relax a bit. “Give 'em hell.” 

 

He grinned at her.  **“Hulk will do** _**best** _ **smashing for Darcy,”** he said magnanimously.  **“Hulk never have fan before.”**

 

She smiled back. “Well, I've never had anyone promise to smash for me before.”

 

He grunted again.  **“Darcy need new friends,”** he said sagely.  **“Friends who smash. Darcy friends with Banner. Banner never smash.”**

 

Darcy's smile widened. “No, he doesn't,” she agreed. “I'll mention it to him next time I see him, if you like.”

 

Hulk nodded.  **“Good,”** he said emphatically.  **“Go now.”** With a final nod in her direction, he bounded off towards the fighting. 

 

Darcy slumped against the wall for a moment, holding a hand to her racing heart. Bruce was right; Hulk was  _scary_ and  _fucking ginormous._ But he hadn't squashed her on sight, which, from what she'd been told and seen on the news, was a little out of the ordinary; and he'd known her name and that she knew Bruce, so apparently some of Bruce's knowledge of her  _had_ made it through to Hulk's brain. 

 

Darcy decided that now was not the time to think of the implications of that.

 

She managed to duck into a coffee shop around the corner without encountering any more robots, and as she huddled under a table next to another girl her age, she couldn't help but smile at the thought that somewhere out there, a giant green rage monster was gleefully beating the shit out of Doom's robots and thinking of her the whole time.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anyone who's ever made one of these in the history of ever knows that by the giving and receiving of a Friendship Bracelet, you promise to be best friends forever and ever, amen. It's a solemn covenant. Didn't you ever go to summer camp?”

Bruce glanced up from his tablet at Darcy, who'd elected to sit next to him today rather than at a different table. She'd been rather quiet, and while he certainly didn't require her to entertain him whenever she was in his lab, they normally spent the entirety of her lunch break talking, about everything from “Who Would Win in a Fight?” hypotheticals (“Do the astronauts have weapons?” Bruce had asked dryly, and Darcy had nearly choked on her tortilla chip before gasping out, “I totally love you for that.”) to their weekend plans (“One of these days,” she'd told him yesterday, waving a forkful of fettuccine alfredo at him, “I am going to _drag_ you out of this lab by your fluffy hair and make you go play Frisbee golf with me or something, so help me God”). 

 

To be honest, Bruce didn't much care  _what_ they talked about as long as she continued to spend her lunches with him; for the first time in his life, he found himself watching the clock every day, anxiously awaiting the moment Darcy would walk into his lab and warm his lonely heart with her smile. 

 

At the moment, she was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, her eyes glued to her hands as she braided some brightly-colored thread together. One end of the braid was pinned to the knee of her jeans with a safety pin, and her lips were moving silently as she worked.

 

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked curiously, setting his tablet on the table and looking down at the colorful braid.

 

“Making a friendship bracelet,” Darcy replied absently, without looking up.

 

“What for?”

 

Darcy paused her braiding and glanced up at him over the rims of her glasses, and her look said nothing so much as _And You Call Yourself a Genius?_ “For a friend, of course,” she said. “Almost done.” She finished off the braid, then removed the safety pin from her jeans and held up the finished product. “See?” 

 

“Very nice,” he replied, confused. 

 

“Now, give me your hand.”

 

“What?”

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “Did your ears not wake up with the rest of you this morning, Bruce? Give me your freaking hand.” When he still didn't move, she huffed and grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her and setting it in her lap, palm up. She gently wrapped the bracelet around his wrist and tied the ends in a bow, and as he silently watched her he tried to ignore the way his heart was racing from the feeling of her warm fingertips sliding across his wrist and the ends of her hair brushing the skin of his forearm.

 

The Other Guy, in his corner of Bruce's mind, was excitedly jabbering Darcy's name over and over, and Bruce hoped the Other Guy's happiness was enough to offset his own rising heart rate.

 

“You know what this means, don't you?” she asked, jerking him out of his reverie. His eyes darted up to meet her gaze; her voice and expression were solemn, though her eyes were sparkling. 

 

“What what means?” 

 

“This,” she replied, giving the threads one final tug before running her thumbs across the bracelet, pressing it flat against his skin. Her lips curled up slightly at the corners. “By all the rules, this means we have to be friends forever.” 

 

“Rules?” he parroted, and he kicked himself for not being able to come up with any kind of intelligent response, but his brain was shorting out from the sight of the soft curve of her smile and the feel of her hands on his and the smell of her hair, not to mention the Other Guy joyfully chanting _**Darcy Darcy Darcy!**_ in his head. 

 

While Bruce knew that Darcy had met the Other Guy, he had no idea exactly what had happened between them to make the Other Guy act like a lovesick schoolboy whenever she was around. Darcy had told Bruce that yes, she'd met Hulk and no, he hadn't hurt her, but further than that, she didn't say; she'd just smiled softly and told Bruce, “He likes me and I like him, so you don't have to worry.”

 

Was it weird to essentially be jealous of  _yourself_ ? 

 

“Yes,” Darcy said firmly, unaware of his roiling emotions, and it took him a second to realize she was continuing their conversation, not answering his mental inquiry. “Anyone who's ever made one of these in the history of ever knows that by the giving and receiving of a Friendship Bracelet, you promise to be best friends forever and ever, amen. It's a solemn covenant. Didn't you ever go to summer camp?”

 

“No,” he replied, bemused, and then a different bit of her statement caught up with him, and his eyes darted around the lab. Spotting a length of narrow tubing on the far side of the table, he edged off of his stool, dislodging his hand from Darcy's grasp, and leaned over to grab it. He gently lifted her arm from where it now rested on her knee and loosely tied the tubing around her wrist, unable to resist brushing his thumbs across the soft skin there as he finished tying the knot. 

 

“Far be it from me to flout rules that have been established for generations,” he said as he snipped away the excess tubing, echoing her solemn tone, and his heart stuttered as her answering smile lit up her face. “Although I'm afraid I don't have any creative talent, so this will have to suffice.” 

 

“That's okay,” she replied, sounding a little breathless, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread over his features.

 

“So how exactly do we do this?” he asked, his fingers still loosely wrapped around her wrist. “Vows? Some kind of ritual sacrifice? A rain dance?” 

 

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and Bruce was about ninety-eight percent sure that she did that on purpose to get him to look at her mouth again, because she'd made that gesture so often around him that his eyes now darted to her lips in a Pavlovian response whenever she did it.

 

“Well,” she said slowly, “it's been a while since I've done this, but I'm pretty sure we join our hands,” and she twisted her wrist so she could entwine her fingers with his, and he had to force himself to concentrate on what she was saying so as not to be completely distracted by how nicely their hands fit together, “and then we pretty much just promise to be friends forever and to never ever take our bracelets off.” 

 

Neither of them mentioned that Bruce's bracelet would snap apart the first time the Other Guy had to make an appearance.

 

“That seems simple enough,” he said, and he really hoped his voice didn't sound as hoarse as it felt.

 

Darcy smiled at him again, and he felt it all the way down to his toes. “Friends forever,” she said warmly.

 

“Forever,” he stammered back.

 

 _**FOREVER!** _ cheered the Other Guy. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do the astronauts have weapons?" is a reference to the TV show _Angel_.


	6. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on. We're going putt-putting.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Putt-putting?” Bruce echoed, not moving from his stool as he looked back up at her. “Darcy, I can't. These equations--”
> 
>  
> 
> “Can wait until Monday,” she interrupted. “And if anyone takes over the world over the weekend, you can say 'I Told You So' as we're led off by our new overlords.”

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Darcy asked as she burst into Bruce's lab.

 

He jumped, startled at her sudden entrance, and adjusted his glasses as he met her gaze. “Um...working?” he replied tentatively.

 

“It's _Saturday,_ Bruce,” she said, scandalized. “And it's a beautiful day; you can't just waste the sunshine.”

 

“And what do you suggest I do with such glorious weather?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her before returning to his work.

 

“I thought you'd never ask,” she replied, grinning, as she grabbed his wrist. “Come on. We're going putt-putting.”

 

“Putt-putting?” Bruce echoed, not moving from his stool as he looked back up at her. “Darcy, I can't. These equations--”

 

“Can wait until Monday,” she interrupted. “And if anyone takes over the world over the weekend, you can say 'I Told You So' as we're led off by our new overlords.”

 

“ _Darcy,”_ he said, but his lips were twitching, so she knew he was at least considering her offer.

 

“Come _on,”_ she wheedled. “A day spent in the sunshine with me; what more could you possibly want? Wait, don't answer that.” 

 

His lips spread into a full smile, and he seemed to be wavering, but his eyes kept darting back to his work; so as firmly as possible, Darcy said, “Are you going to make me drag you out of here by your hair? 'Cause I totally will.” She released her grip on his wrist and slid her hand into his hair, curling her fingers through the soft dark strands. 

 

His eyelids fluttered and she could see the tension melting out of his shoulders as her fingers worked his scalp, and he murmured, “Yes, you did warn me about that.” It took Darcy a few moments to recover her train of thought, because his eyes looking warm and chocolately and his voice coming out all low and velvety like that made something curl low in her stomach and  _highly_ inappropriate thoughts went dancing through her head, and she had to mentally shake herself before her mind could wander any farther.

 

“I did,” she replied, hoping he couldn't see her blush. “Am I gonna have to carry out my threat?” She tightened her grip on his hair, and her inner self pondered a few _other_ situations that might allow for Darcy to grip Bruce's hair like that, preferably ones with a _lot_ less clothing. 

 

 _Seriously, shut up,_ she told herself, and she hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt. 

 

“No,” he replied, sliding his glasses off of his nose and setting them on the table. “I'll come; I'm rather attached to my hair.” 

 

“So am I,” she blurted before she could stop herself, and Bruce laughed. 

 

“Glad to hear I have _some_ redeeming qualities,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, and Darcy wasn't even going to touch that, because if she started telling him everything about him she found 'redeeming', they'd be here all day _._

 

“Keep in mind,” he said as she released his hair and the two of them made their way towards the park, “I haven't done this in...God, I can't even remember how long.” 

 

“No worries,” she replied, smiling, trying to calm her racing heart. “Neither have I.” 

 

* * *

“Wow,” she heard Bruce say, amusement warming his voice, as her ball hit the little house for the fourth time in a row. “And I thought _I_ was bad at this.” 

 

“Shut up,” she replied, reaching up and brushing some of her hair out of her face. “I think that house keeps moving.” 

 

“Yes,” he said indulgently. “That must be it.”

 

“Plus,” she said as she lined up her shot again, “I'm pretty sure you're cheating.” 

 

“How would I do that?”

 

“I don't know; you're like, doing the math in your head or something and figuring it out so you can actually make par.” 

 

“That's not cheating.”

 

“Wait...” she paused and looked at him. “So you _are_ doing the math in your head?” 

 

He shrugged and she was pretty sure he was blushing and it was all really adorable. “Maybe?” he said. 

 

“That's really dorky. Just so you know.” 

 

“And yet I'm winning.”

 

“I hate you. A lot.”

 

“But you're willing to be seen out in public with me, anyway. That's very generous of you.” 

 

“Well, if you don't put that genius brain to work and help me make this shot, I might just reconsider.” 

 

Darcy was pretty sure her heart stopped beating completely when Bruce came up behind her and slid his arms around her, resting his hands over hers on her golf club. “Okay,” he said, his breath puffing against her cheek, “let's do this.” He gently guided her hands through the swing, and it was a good thing he was doing most of the work because Darcy was far too distracted by how warm and strong his hands were and how nice he smelled to pay attention to the stupid golf ball. 

 

“And there we go,” Bruce's voice in her ear jolted her out of her fog and her eyes darted over to see that her ball had, indeed, made it through the hole in the bottom of the model house and dropped into the cup. 

 

“Thanks,” she replied, turning her face to look up at him, hoping he didn't notice how breathless she sounded. He must have, though, because his gaze turned from playful to solemn, and she felt something shift in his posture. Before he could move any further, she tilted her chin up and pressed her lips to his. 

 

She felt him stiffen around her, and his grip tightened on her hands around the club, but his lips remained unresponsive. As she pulled away, she saw his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched; he must have felt her eyes on him, because his opened, and as her questioning gaze met his agonized one, he choked out, “I can't. I'm sorry, I can't,” and pulled himself away from her, her golf club falling, unnoticed, to the ground.

 

She could see him curling in on himself, even if the only outward sign was his shoulders twitching up slightly, so to prevent any further withdrawal, she reached out and placed one hand on his arm. “Bruce, it's okay,” she said soothingly. 

 

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head, his eyes on the fake grass beneath their feet. 

 

“No,” she said. “Don't be. It's okay. I understand.”

 

“It's--”

 

“ _All okay,”_ Darcy repeated firmly. “I get it. I know.”

 

“I just don't want you to think--”

  


“I don't,” she interrupted, squeezing his bicep. “Don't worry about it. Okay?” 

 

He swallowed hard and slowly met her gaze, and something in her eyes must have reassured him, because some of the tension left his shoulders and he nodded. “Alright.” 

 

“We can still be friends, though, right? I didn't ruin everything, did I?”

 

His dark eyes softened and he reached up with his other hand to trace along the thin tubing she still had tied around her wrist. “Solemn covenant, right?” he asked.

 

She smiled, relieved, and dropped her hand to her side. “Yeah.” 

 

His shoulders relaxed the rest of the way, and after darting her a grateful smile, he reached down to pick up their forgotten golf clubs. “Besides, there's no way you're getting out of playing the back nine,” he said, holding out her club. “I've got a six stroke lead; you'll never catch up.” 

 

Her eyes narrowed and she snatched her club from his hands, brutally shoving aside the tingle that ran up her arm as their fingertips brushed. “Oh, it is  _on_ , Science Man.” 

 

 

 

 


	7. Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Banner stupid!_** the Other Guy yelled and for once Bruce agreed with that assessment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've never really had Hulk be this talkative before, but it works for me here, and it amuses me to imagine Bruce and Hulk having these long mental conversations, so...I'm doing it. I'm the author, I do what I want! :p
> 
> Also, this fic has devolved into complete and utter schmoop.

Bruce shut and locked the door to his lab and then leaned back against it, sliding down until he was slumped on the floor. He groaned as he buried his face in his hands.

 

 _**Banner** _ **stupid!** __ the Other Guy yelled and for once Bruce agreed with that assessment. 

 

_**Darcy kiss Banner and Banner stand like stupid puny statue!** _

 

 _I know,_ Bruce replied, thumping his head back against the door.  _I was there._

 

 _**Banner make Darcy think Banner not** _ **want** _**to kiss her!** _

 

 _It's not that I didn't_ want  _to--_

 

**Hulk** _**would not stand like stupid puny statue if Darcy kissed Hulk.** _ **Hulk** _**not stupid.** _

 

 _Please stop,_ Bruce pleaded, and the Other Guy seemed to understand more than just the words, because he merely replied, with as much sympathy as Bruce had ever heard,  _**Banner not worry. Darcy smarter than stupid Banner. Darcy make everything better.** _

 

Bruce sighed.  _If only it were that easy._

 

When Darcy had kissed him, a part of him (that sounded oddly like the crab from  _The Little Mermaid)_ had screamed,  _Kiss the girl, you fool!_ The Other Guy had joined in, yelling  _**Darcy kissing Banner! Why Banner not kissing Darcy?** _

 

Another part of him (that sounded disturbingly like his father) had sneered,  _You don't deserve her. You're old. You're boring. You're a dangerous monster. You're your father's son,_ and an image of a weeping Darcy cowering on the floor with a red hand print across her face had flashed in his mind's eye, and the mere thought of it was enough to silence both his mental Sebastian and the Other Guy long enough for Darcy to end the kiss and for Bruce to jerk away from her and stammer something, and Bruce's heart had ached at the understanding in her eyes and voice and in her light touch on his arm. 

 

He'd promised to be her friend and he'd meant it; he intended to do everything he could to keep that promise, so he'd finished the game with her, pretending that everything was okay between them. But every time she'd looked or smiled at him and he'd seen that she was pretending, too, that voice had hissed, _Look at what you've done to her. You don't deserve her smiles. You don't even deserve her_ friendship.  _She deserves better than a dull washout like you. Someone who_ doesn't  _have an alter-ego that could kill her. You're a selfish idiot for even considering it._

 

* * *

 

On Sunday, Bruce shut himself up in his lab again.

 

 _**Why is Banner thinking about** _ **science?** _**Banner should be thinking about** _ **Darcy!**

 

 _Banner is thinking about science to_ avoid  _thinking about Darcy,_ Bruce replied, squinting down at his tablet.  _And you are not being very helpful._

 

 _**Hulk not want help Banner be** _ **stupid.** _**Hulk want see Darcy.** _

 

As if their thoughts had called her to them, Darcy came striding through the door.

 

“Aha!” she exclaimed, and he shrank a bit from the determined gleam in her eye. “I _thought_ I might find you here.”

 

_**Darcy! Darcy here! Look, Banner! Is Darcy!** _

 

 _I see her. Shut up._

 

Bruce set down his tablet and slid his glasses up into his hair. “What can I do for you, Darcy?” he asked, and he inwardly congratulated himself for how calm he sounded.

 

_**Darcy think Banner not like her if Banner calm and boring!** _

 

"There's something I want to say to you before I shut up on this subject,” Darcy said, walking around the table to stand in front of him.

 

“Okay,” he said warily.

 

“I _like_ you, Bruce,” she declared, her eyes boring into his, and he tried to ignore the hope that blossomed in his chest at her words. “I like you a _lot._ I think you're brilliant and funny and sweet. You're the only guy I've ever cared about who likes my lipstick; you intimidated my ex for me and you laugh at my lame jokes and you don't seem to mind that I pester you every day at lunchtime. You even gave me a friendship bracelet. I think Hulk is totally badass and awesome. And if the only reason you won't let yourself be with me is because you think you're too old or too science-y or because of Hulk or whatever, I want you to know that none of that is an issue with me.” 

 

 _**Darcy like Hulk!** _ the Other Guy cheered.  _**Hulk like Darcy, too!** _

 

Bruce was still processing the idea that Darcy just might care for him as much as he cared for her; and right when his inner Brian Banner started to denigrate him again, the Other Guy burst out with:

 

_**Hulk like Darcy even more than smashing!** _

 

Coming from the Other Guy, that right there was as good as a declaration of undying devotion (complete with strewn rose petals and candlelight); even his inner Brian Banner didn't have a comeback for such a heartfelt confession, and Bruce knew he was never going to live it down with his other self that Bruce hadn't admitted to his feelings first. 

 

Hopefully, Darcy would never find out about this.

 

 _**Banner need stop** _ **thinking** _**so much and** _ **kiss Darcy!**

 

“I mean,” she was saying, “I know that you're concerned about keeping people safe, and I get that, and that's one of the fifty gazillion things I adore about you, but you should think of yourself once in a while, you know?”

 

“Oh,” he managed to choke out. 

 

She leaned down until their eyes were level, propping one hand on the table next to him. “You told me when we first met that you didn't like how Hulk had taken over your life and reputation. Well, you should take them back. Let the world know that just because you gained Hulk, that doesn't mean your brains all leaked out of your ears.”

 

_**Hulk smart!** _

 

“I mean, he seems like a pretty intelligent guy, too,” she said, and the Other Guy preened, and Bruce was pretty sure that this was the most surreal three-way conversation he'd ever had in his life. 

 

“You may be the Hulk,” she continued solemnly. “But you're also Doctor Bruce Banner, and he deserves all the praise just as much as Hulk does.”

 

 _**Stupid Banner need kiss Darcy! Or Darcy will stop talking and then Darcy will** _ **leave!**

 

“I want you to have everything you think you don't deserve,” Darcy said fervently, and Bruce decided that the Other Guy was right and that Bruce might as well let himself have something he wanted for once rather than taking the far more sensible and noble route of sacrifice. 

 

 _**Of course Hulk right! Hulk** _ **always** _**right!** _

 

“Darcy,” Bruce said hoarsely.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do us a favor.” 

 

“What's that?” 

 

He reached up and rested his hands along the sides of her face. “Stop talking,” he whispered, tracing his thumbs along her bottom lip. He pulled her to him and kissed her, and she sighed and melted into him, her mouth soft and pliant against his as she slid onto his lap, curling her hands into his hair, and he heard his glasses clatter to the floor.

 

“What made you change your mind?” she breathed against his mouth. 

 

“The Other Guy,” he murmured, “told me I was being stupid.” 

 

 _**Banner** _ **was** _**being stupid!** _

 

“I always knew _he_ was the smart one,” she whispered back.

 

* * *

 

“You know,” Darcy said, smiling as she trailed her fingers along the nape of his neck, “I'm _really_ glad I went to that party.” 

 

“And I'm forever grateful that you had no qualms about talking to the unresponsive stranger you met at that party.” 

 

“Hmm,” she hummed back. “How does that song go? 'You may see a stranger across a crowded room'? Something like that. I'm pretty sure that's what happened.” 

 

Bruce laughed. “I just hope we can live happily ever after like they do.”

 

“Duh,” Darcy said, kissing his nose. “You think I'd let us end any other way?” 

 

 

 


End file.
